My Irina Ch. 03

"I just shrieked at him, as loud as I could, over and over, 'GET OUT!' I must have scared him, because he jumped off the bed and disappeared. I started frantically looking around for my clothes and in a minute Barbie came running in and asked if I was all right.

"I just said I needed to go home, right away, and could she help me? She went and got my dress and underwear and shoes, and she called Jayson to come get me. I sat there in their guest room by myself until he arrived--I wouldn't talk to Jamie or Barbie, wouldn't eat or drink anything. I just wanted to get out of there!

"And when I got home, I went straight into the shower and stood in it for more than an hour. Washing, and crying."

Irina wasn't angry any more. All the defiance had gone out of her; she sat slumped on the loveseat, her head in her hands, looking at the floor.

"Now you know it all," she said, "the whole, sordid, horrible story. Now you can do whatever you want, Tom--divorce me, throw me out of the house, I don't know. I can't believe I did it, but I did it. I cheated on you."

And without another word, without looking at me, she got up and left the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

****************

I spent another night in the guest room, but this time I didn't fall asleep for hours. There were two things I understood clearly, two things I was going to have to come to terms with.

The first was that, if her story was true, Irina had essentially been raped. She hadn't chosen to have sex with Jamie, hadn't taken advantage of my absence to have a fling with a sexy movie star. She'd been seduced and manipulated and above all drugged--and not only by Jamie but by Barbie as well.

And I knew that I had to forgive her. You can't blame the woman you love for being the victim of a rapist, especially when it is a friend she trusted.

But the second thing is that I was beside myself with jealousy and insecurity. Intellectually, I could understand that this happened to Irina against her will. But in my guts I was tormented by the thoughts of my beautiful wife fucking him--writhing in bliss as he licked her pussy, then groaning with pleasure as they fucked, hard and long, on the couch.

I could see that lovely body that had always belonged only to me--and it was in Jamie's arms, it was Jamie's prick making her come, Jamie receiving her passionate kisses. And I didn't know if I could ever tame those visions.

****************

I got up late, after the twins had gone off to school, and had a quiet breakfast by myself; then I called Jayson and asked him to come over.

We sat in my study and I asked for his help, explaining what I wanted him to do. He agreed, and picked up the phone to call his buddy Ned Compton.

"Ned? Hey, what's going on? It's Jayson--got a minute?

"Yeah, a couple of little things. I just wanted to ask you about Saturday night, when you told me I could leave. Did Irina tell you she was staying over?

"Uh-huh. Yeah. So it was Barbie's idea? Yeah, okay. No, no particular reason, I was just curious.

"Listen, here's the main thing. Tom wants to find a way to speak to Barbie quietly--he's planning some kind of surprise for Irina and wants Barbie's advice. What's her schedule like today?

"Yeah, uh-huh. Yeah, I'll bet that would work. Great. So you wouldn't mind swinging by here about 12:15? Fantastic--I'll tell him. Thanks, man. Later."

Jayson hung up and turned to me, smiling.

"Ned said Barbie told him to send me home the other night--he never saw Irina at all. Also, Barbie's going in to the studio this afternoon for a script meeting; he offered to pick you up on his way to get her, so the two of you can talk in the car on the way into the studio. If you like, I'll come pick you up when you're done."

"Excellent, Jayson, thanks," I said.

****************

When Barbie bent down to get into the car she was surprised to see me. Surprised and a bit wary. "Tom? Oh, uh, hi--nice to see you! This is a surprise."

I gave her the kiss on the cheek that was our usual greeting. "Hello, Barbie--you look lovely as always. Yeah, I hoped I could talk with you for a few minutes while Ned is driving you in to the studio."

I pressed the button that raised the privacy glass between us and Ned. As soon as it was all the way up I turned to face her, not giving her much of a chance to prepare herself.

"Barbie, I'm not exactly happy that Jamie fucked Irina at your house the other night. I thought you were our friend--how could you let that happen?"

She looked unhappy, and wouldn't meet my gaze.

"I am sorry, Tom--really. If it were up to me, none of this would have happened."

"What the hell does that mean?" I replied--I was quickly growing angry. "Irina said you were a part of it. Maybe you'd better tell me just what happened."

She sighed. "What happened is what happens whenever Jamie takes a fancy to a new piece of ass--oh! I'm sorry, Tom. I love Irina, and I don't think of her that way.

"But when Jamie sees a woman he has the hots for .... Let's just say that what Jamie wants, Jamie gets."

She turned to me. "Remember a year ago after our big party, when we all drank champagne together and he and I started fooling around in front of you? That was supposed to be the beginning of a night of swapping: Jamie with Irina, me with you. Only you didn't want to play along."

I was shocked, not by the memory but by the matter-of-fact way she said it. "You wanted to have sex with me?"

Calmly she said, "not really, Tom. Oh, I like you a lot! But no, I'd be happy being with nobody but Jamie. You getting me was the price I would have had to pay so Jamie got what HE wanted.

"And once it didn't happen--and it didn't happen either on our vacation trip in the Aegean last spring, despite everything Jamie tried--he was more determined than ever."

My head was reeling a little. "So--what you're telling me is that when Jamie wants to have sex with a woman, you help make it happen by making yourself available to her husband or boyfriend?"

She nodded, looking unhappy. "It sounds pretty awful, doesn't it?"

I sat back. "So, Barbie--could you tell me what happened the other night?"

"Pretty much what happened a year ago, when it was the four of us. Jamie put Ecstasy in the champagne--this year I think he may have given Irina an extra-big dose--and then he and I started fooling around in front of her. He played around with my tits, and then I pulled out his cock and started giving him a blow-job, making sure Irina could see everything I was doing. She looked pretty turned-on, and the X made sure she didn't get embarrassed and leave the room.

"Then when Jamie thought she was ready, he sent me out of the room and he went over and fucked Irina, right there on the couch. I think he probably gave her a lot of foreplay first, then banged her for a while. That's what he usually does." She said this last part in a bitter tone.

"Did she try to stop him?" I asked.

"She couldn't have--not with all that Ecstasy in her. Jamie wouldn't have taken No for an answer. I don't mean he would have hit her or anything--but whatever she said wouldn't have stopped him. And she was feeling so mellow that she never could have fought him off."

We sat for a moment, me silently contemplating the treachery of my so-called friends.

"And after that? The next morning?"

"I'm really sorry, Tom," she said. "Usually women are absolutely thrilled to get laid by the great Jamie Breland, the World's Sexiest Man and all that. You know? It's a story they can tell their grandchildren: 'I fucked Jamie Breland! Jamie Breland licked my pussy!' The main problem is getting rid of them.

"But when Irina woke up and found Jamie in the room with her, she went crazy--started screaming at him to get out, to leave her alone. He was totally shocked, the asshole--the very idea that a woman would be upset about having had sex with him! So he went and hid in the bedroom, and I helped her get dressed and called your driver to come pick her up.

"She was a mess, Tom. After her screaming fit, she was practically catatonic--she wouldn't even talk to me."

Finally she looked me in the eye. "I am so very sorry about this."

I bit back the angry words I wanted to throw in her face. "How did Irina end up staying over in the first place?"

"Jamie's idea," she said. "He wanted another crack at fucking her, figuring he had a better chance with you away. So he had me send Ned to tell your driver to go home; and then I told Irina that he had felt sick and needed to leave, and she could stay over.

"Why wouldn't she believe me? We're friends! So she didn't think twice about it." Again Barbie sounded bitter.

"Why, Barbie? I just don't get it. I can see why Jamie might want to fuck every beautiful woman he comes across, even though he's married to you. But why on earth do you let him? Why are you willing to fuck other men to help him do it? How could you have pimped out Irina the way you did? We thought you were one of our closest friends!"

She sighed, and gave me a pleading look. "Try and understand, Tom. When Jamie and I first got together I was getting bit parts in unimportant movies. Now, married to the biggest star in Hollywood, I'm getting leads in big-budget romantic comedies. My last movie grossed $160 million, and studios are offering me nearly $10 million a picture.

"I know Jamie is the big draw, the one with the talent, the major sex symbol. If we break up my career will be back to nothing in a year.

"Do you think I like my husband screwing every little piece of fluff that catches his eye? Do you imagine I enjoy fucking random guys just to help Jamie get all the strange pussy he wants?" She shook her head.

"So," I said slowly. "It's all about your *career*." I let my sarcastic tone sink in.

"I don't know which one of you is the more pathetic--or the more despicable. You or Jamie--it's a toss-up."

I didn't want to be in the car with her a moment longer. I lowered the privacy window and asked Ned to let me out at the corner. I left the car without looking back; I think I heard Barbie say, "I'm sorry, Tom," as I closed the door.

I walked a block to a Dunkin' Donuts and called from there for Jayson to pick me up.

****************

I found Irina sitting in a chair in the back yard, gazing idly out at the pool.

"Will you come for a drive with me?"

She looked up at me, trying to read my expression. She looked tired and sad, and unsure what to expect.

"Of course, Tom. Let me get some shoes on."

I drove us to our favorite spot in Malibu, overlooking the ocean, and we walked out to the edge and sat together on a rock. I put my arm around her waist and gently pulled her close to me.

"I spoke to Barbie today," I said. "They set you up, you know."

"You checked up on me?" she said angrily. I just looked steadily at her; and after a moment her face softened into a sad expression, and she nodded.

"Yes, of course you did. I'm sorry, Tom. I don't suppose that you're feeling awfully trusting right now."

I said, "what matters is that he raped you, Irina." She looked at me, shocked, and I continued.

"They told Jayson you were staying over and then lied to you about his feeling sick. Then Jamie gave you a big dose of Ecstasy, and the two of them put on a sex show to get you turned-on. When he thought you were hot enough, Barbie disappeared and he came over and fucked you."

In an angry tone I said, "according to Barbie they pull this stunt quite regularly--whenever some woman catches Jamie's eye.

"And she also said that Jamie's wanted to screw you for a long time. The little act they put on for the two of us last year, after their party, was supposed to end in a night of wife-swapping. Jamie also tried everything he could think of to make it happen while we were vacationing with them on the boat."

"And Barbie went along with this? Why?" Irina sounded more confused than outraged.

"Are you ready for this? It's all about her career!" I said. "Married to Jamie, she's a big star--without him, she wouldn't be. So she pimps for him, and even fucks whoever she needs to so he can screw the girl of the moment."

I snorted. "I guess you should be flattered, honey. He's been after you for more than a year--he sure didn't give up easily."

Irina stood up and began to pace. I watched her fists clench and her face grow tight with anger. She came back and stood in front of me, looking down.

"Are you sure about this, Tom? Two people who we really thought were our friends set us up like this? Drugging me and all that--it was all because Jamie wanted to fuck me?"

I nodded. "They may or may not also like us--as friends. But at least some of it was about Jamie getting into your pants."

"Can we kill them?" she said. "Something slow and lingering?"

I laughed, pleased to see some of Irina's spunkiness returning. "Sounds like a good plan to me--of course, there may be a few logistical difficulties."

She paced some more, deep in thought. Finally she stopped and said, hesitantly, "and how are ... where does that leave us?"

"It leaves us with some recovering to do. You need to get over having been raped, by people you trusted. I need to get over the feeling of letting you down, of not being there to protect you."

"Oh, Tom!" she said, throwing her arms around me. "I know we can do that!" She clung to me, kissing my lips and my cheeks, tears in her eyes.

"There's more, though. I also need to get over the pictures in my head. You and Jamie, the man that billions of women fantasize about--him pleasuring you. Him fucking you, making you come over and over..."

"But Tom," she cried, "I was drugged, I didn't even know what I was doing! I was half-convinced it was you!"

"I know that. I know that, Irina--really.

"But it doesn't mean that the pictures go away. And the fear that I can never be the lover for you that he was."

Irina pulled back from me. She stood three feet away, looking up into my face with the most serious, intent expression I'd ever seen.

"Tom Lawrence, you listen to me. THAT ... IS ... RIDICULOUS. Total nonsense. In fact, total bullshit!

"I didn't want to fuck Jamie--I have never wanted to fuck Jamie--and the sex was hot because I was aroused, and full of Ecstasy, and confused. The ONLY man I've ever wanted to make love to is you--since the day we found each other at that frat party!"

I smiled at her. "Can you tell me you've never thought about Jamie's body? After the party last year--after seeing him naked on the boat, after watching him fuck Barbie in the cabin? You've never fantasized about stroking his chest, or his arms around you, or that big fat hard cock?"

She didn't look away from me. "Sure I have, from time to time. Everybody fantasizes, Tom. You've had daydreams about Barbie too, right? Those great tits? Imagined her riding you, bouncing up and down on you?

"So what? We all fantasize--it doesn't mean I WANTED to have sex with Jamie, or anyone else. Any more than I think you wanted to fuck Barbie! How is that any different?"

"How it's different," I said slowly, "is that you DID fuck him. I know you didn't intend to--but it happened. And it's going to take me a while to get over it."

Irina looked at me sadly, and finally nodded. I took her in my arms again and we held each other, silently, looking out at the Pacific Ocean.

****************

Ralph stood to shake my hand, then looked at me curiously as we settled into chairs on either side of his desk. "Well, Tom, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

I smiled at him. Ralph Elliot had been our attorney since Irina and I first moved to California. He initially seemed like a conservative, buttoned-down sort of guy, but I'd gotten to know him enough to see the slightly subversive sense of humor underneath. He took his job seriously but not himself--and certainly not the crazy Hollywood scene.

"First, Ralph, just to confirm--attorney-client privilege covers anything and everything we discuss, right?"

He raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Sure, Tom--planning to rob a bank? Not that you'd need to...

"Seriously--unless I become aware of criminal activity on your part, which I am obliged to report as an officer of the court, then yes, anything we discuss is completely confidential."

"Okay. Let's just say, Ralph, hypothetically, that a friend of mine wanted to have something a little shady done. Not illegal, mind you, but something he wanted taken care of discreetly and at arm's length from himself. Might it be possible for you, as my attorney, to recommend me to someone discreet and competent in, say, surreptitious activities, whom my friend could deal with over the phone, without ever meeting?"

Ralph's smile broadened. "Well, well. Tom Lawrence, the Boy Scout, whatever has happened to you? All right, let's see." He thought for a few minutes, his hands tented together on his chest.

"Yes, I could probably make arrangements for 'your friend' to speak discreetly to someone ... a friend of a friend, I guess you could call him. And the arrangement could proceed with confidentiality on both sides.

"There's the issue of trust, of course. Will the fellow I recommend do what he's hired to do? And will 'your friend' follow through on whatever financial commitments he makes?

"For that reason, I would suggest a step-by-step approach. Your 'friend' should work out a plan with many discrete steps, and with partial payments attached to each one. That way, as steps are taken and payments are made, each side can be increasingly confident of the other."

We talked for a while longer, and Ralph had many valuable suggestions about timing, modes of communication (throwaway cell phones, with calls made at pre-arranged times), and so on. I could tell he was incredibly curious but had the lawyer's gift of restraining himself.

We agreed that he'd contact the person he had in mind and, if he seemed interested in the job, Ralph would call me with a discreet contact number for him.

When I was getting ready to leave he said, "tell your 'friend' to be careful, Tom. I'd hate to see this blow up in your--or should I say 'his'--face. You're a successful businessman with a pretty high profile and a beautiful family."

I inwardly grimaced at this last remark but said nothing, just smiled and thanked him and left the office.

Four days later I made my first contact with Ralph's man. He suggested I call him "Moe" and I'd be "Larry." Without naming names I gave him the broad outlines of what I had in mind, and he decided our target would be "Curly." (I guess the guy watched a lot of old TV.)

As Ralph had suggested I'd broken down the project into nearly two dozen parts and worked out payments for the completion of each one. The total, after Moe and I had negotiated, was nearly $2.3 million, but that included over a million dollars for payoffs and expenses. This was a job I wanted done right.

I'd bought two phones and left the one for Moe taped underneath a bench in a suburban park, per his instructions, along with $10,000 in cash in an envelope. The money was to get things rolling and to demonstrate to Moe that I was serious--which I was. As serious as a heart attack.

As things went forward, further payments were made via electronic transfers through a set of dummy corporations that Ralph had helped me set up on behalf of my 'friend'. Such things were perfectly legal, and it meant that my connection to the whole business was virtually undetectable. (No, not completely--nothing's perfect. But Ralph assured me that there were enough layers to protect me from all but the most zealous investigator, and one with unlimited resources.)

It wasn't until Moe had put several parts of the plan into preparation that I told him who "Curly" actually was. I could almost hear him grin over the phone.